


The Courtship(s) of Martin Blackwood

by Zykaben



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Asexual Character, Crack, Everyone just really likes Martin okay?, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'll be tagging as I go along, M/M, Season 3 AU, Timeline What Timeline, now with actual jonmartin content, that's it that's the fic, they kisssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zykaben/pseuds/Zykaben
Summary: Martin was the perfect bait—someone so easy to inspire fear in while still pushing through it all in order to face the next horror. It only made sense to put such an attractant in close proximity to the Archivist, luring all manner of things to come close so that they would mark Jon.Jonah hadn’t quite expected his plan to backfire so spectacularly.Or: Martin Blackwood is like catnip for those touched by the Entities and single-handedly prevents the apocalypse by getting them all to fawn over him just by being himself.
Relationships: Just assume that all of the Avatars listed just really like Martin, Martin Blackwood & Annabelle Cane, Martin Blackwood & Helen, Martin Blackwood & Jared Hopworth, Martin Blackwood & Jude Perry, Martin Blackwood & Michael, Martin Blackwood & Michael "Mike" Crew, Martin Blackwood & Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood & Simon Fairchild, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Michael "Mike" Crew & Jude Perry
Comments: 138
Kudos: 963





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Title: Martin Is a Harem Anime Protagonist
> 
> This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written in my life. It was originally meant to be a short, 4K one-shot but it's hit almost 9K now and I'm still going so we're divvying it up.
> 
> Anyway, have this AU where everything is fine and a bunch of Avatars fawn over Martin. Some are platonic, some are more romantic, but the main thing is that everyone just really likes Martin.
> 
> This takes place after Jon has returned from being on the run. However, Jon didn't get his Marks from Jude or Mike—neither of them used their powers on him and failed to instill that deep level of fear that Jonah so desperately wished for.
> 
> Anyway, I hope that this is just as fun to read as it was to write. Without further ado, I present to you the first chapter.

Martin couldn’t recall with certainty how many times he had thought “well, my life cannot _possibly_ get any more absurd at this point,” but he knew that the number was well into the double digits. How could it not be, when he was working at somewhere like the Magnus Institute? Horrific statements of those traumatized by the supernatural, having an evil worm queen attack him, seeing what he thought was his friend stretched into something dangerous and inhuman—it wasn’t a surprise to Martin that he’d had to redefine the upper limit of his threshold for impossible so many times.

That being said, Martin knew with a bone-deep certainty that his life would _never_ get weirder than it was right now.

Martin stepped into the archives and made his way to his desk. No one else was in yet save for Jon, if the light leaking from his office door was any indication, but that didn’t surprise Martin. Melanie and Tim tried to stay away and out of sight as much as they could and Basira almost never came in this early.

Thus, Martin was virtually alone when he reached his desk and took stock of the two things that certainly hadn’t been there before he went home for the weekend. He let his attention first drift to the small collection of bones—maybe eleven or twelve of them in total?—all stark white and each twisted into the shape of hearts. Not anatomically correct hearts, no, just little shapes that signified affection. They were linked together like a chain and carefully laid out to form the very shape that it was made up of. A heart made up of hearts made up of bones.

A few short months ago, a lifetime ago, Martin would have screamed at the sick piece of artwork. His stomach would have churned and he would have fled to someone—Jon, Elias, Tim, Sasha—and fearfully rambled that someone had _snuck in_ to leave Martin a _heart of bones._

Now, Martin just placed his bag down and moved to pick up the bone heart, somewhat surprised to notice that the heart held its shape. A closer look revealed that the bones seemed to be fused where they touched each other, ensuring that the overall heart didn’t lose its shape. He would have to find somewhere to put the piece.

 _Maybe I could hang it up on the wall by my desk? No, Tim would definitely_ not _appreciate that and Jon has been really tense and angry about any sign of the others, so that option is right out. I suppose I could always hide it away in a drawer, but Jared would probably be… sad? Upset? What if I…_

Martin took to rearranging the corner of his desk that was closest to the wall, moving folders and books and papers until he had something of a makeshift nook. He took the bone heart and maneuvered it to rest against the wall. There! Now it was still present and displayed but Jon and Tim wouldn’t be able to see it unless they came over to his desk, something that neither of them ever did these days. Martin would be sure to thank Jared for the gift when the large man swung by the archives.

Satisfied, Martin nodded to himself and let his gaze fall onto the gift basket that still sat on his desk. He spotted the thick, coarse paper tied to the top and carefully freed it. He opened the note.

_Martin,_

_I hope that you had a restful weekend to yourself. Take care and have a day that’s as pleasant as yourself, if such a thing exists._

_P. Lukas_

_Beauty isn't seen by eyes.  
_ _It's felt by hearts,  
_ _Recognized by souls,  
_ _In the presence of others._

Martin couldn’t help the soft smile that sprung to his face as he refolded the note and carefully placed it down onto his desk. Peter never showed up when anyone was around and he always left before anyone came back, something that Martin was certain had to do with the man’s Entity. Still, Peter made his presence known in a manner that Martin could only describe as _shy,_ leaving short notes with small, sometimes silly poems scrawled at the bottom. Sometimes, maybe once every two weeks or so, he’d also leave a gift of some sort, just for Martin. It made something ache pleasantly in Martin’s chest, waiting for the day that he could thank Peter to the man’s face.

For now though…

Martin carefully peeled away the layers of light blue and sea-green tissue paper, taking care not to tear it. In the center was a book with a worn leather cover. Martin could see the edges of yellowed pages and smell the distinct scent that always accompanied old libraries and ancient tomes. The book itself rested on periwinkle cloth that looked so very soft. Martin reached in and took both out, placing the book next to the hand-written note. The cloth was somehow even _softer_ than he had been expecting and Martin couldn’t help but think _oh, so this is what clouds are meant to feel like._ It didn’t take long for Martin to realize that the cloth was actually a scarf. He wasted no time in winding it around his neck. It was warm and smelled like the ocean breeze and it was so incredibly _soft._

Martin didn’t nuzzle into the fabric, but it was a near thing.

Martin picked up the book once again and flipped to the first page. As he scanned the text, he felt his eyes bulge.

_No way. There’s no way that—_

Martin flipped through several more pages.

Peter had gotten him a book of Shakespeare's poems. That had been published in _1640_ if the title page was to be believed.

Martin took in a shaky breath and felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He _knew_ that Peter had a lot of money—he was a Lukas, after all—but something of this magnitude, it was—too _much—_

Martin took in another breath and tried to swallow down the burning sensation in the back of his throat. He would _not_ cry this early in the day, he refused to. He would have to… find some way to talk to Peter, maybe ask him to return the book. Not because Martin didn’t love it, but because it just—

Martin blinked and a traitorous tear broke loose. He cursed softly under his breath—how pathetic was he, crying over a man he’d never properly met and a fancy book—and placed the book down, intent on scrubbing his face with his sleeve.

The book had barely made contact with his desk again when he felt something sharp and gentle glide across his face, neatly whisking the tear away.

Martin flinched back at the sudden contact and gave a short abortive gasp before it turned into a quick, surprised exhale. “I didn’t hear the door open.”

“I knocked, just like you asked. I was… hm, worried? Yes, _worried_ when you didn’t answer.”

Martin gave a short burst of laughter at that and turned to face Michael fully. Michael was standing in the threshold of his yellow door, the impossible corridor stretching behind him and his hand reaching impossibly across the space to where he wiped Martin’s tear away. He had on the expression that Martin had taken to mean he was smiling. It made something warm bubble in Martin’s stomach. He smiled back at Michael and Michael’s expression grew _more,_ twisting into the air around him and bending the space around where it branched off.

“Sorry,” Martin said, more out of reflex than anything else. He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, but it was more out of reflex than anything else. “I was, ah, a bit caught up? Peter left a book and it—well—it’s just a bit much? Not, not that it’s _bad,_ not at all, it’s just… something I’m not used to? It’s a lot.”

Michael hummed, his expression unchanging as he stepped fully into the archives, the door closing with its usual _creeeeeak_ behind him. “Yes, so you’ve said. And, as always, my offer remains.”

Martin couldn’t help the fond eye-roll he gave and wow, what had his life come to that _that_ was his reaction. “No, Michael, you don’t need to find and kill him or anyone else. I just… got a bit overwhelmed? I don’t think it’s just the book, though. Maybe a bit of everything?”

Michael gave a low hum again, but didn’t say much else.

Martin turned back to his desk and _very_ carefully placed the book alongside the others on his desk, before sitting down. He turned on his computer and grabbed the manilla folder closest to him as he waited for the machine to boot up. He had been working on following up on a statement for Jon, though the details weren’t as clear after stepping away from it for two days. Martin allowed himself a small moment of pride for taking down notes on post-its and sticking them throughout the papers, allowing him to refresh his memory with ease.

He didn’t bother to pay any mind to the feeling of Michael approaching. It was funny—Michael didn’t make any noise, but there was _something_ that told Martin exactly how far away Michael was and that he was getting closer. Of course, Martin had no doubt that Michael could turn that feeling off whenever he wanted to. It did scare him a little to know that, but mostly Martin felt appreciative that Michael was willing to project his existence purely for the sake of Martin’s own comfort.

As Martin had expected, Michael stopped when he stood just behind Martin, pausing for a few moments before leaning down and letting himself slump onto Martin as the monster was wont to do. His arms rested on Martin’s shoulders and long, knife-like fingers reached halfway across Martin’s desk. Martin could feel Michael’s chin on the top of his head, sharp and cool and light and warm.

Honestly, Michael was too much like a cat that didn’t understand the concept of personal space for Martin to feel properly intimidated by him. Martin simply continued to work and write out new notes, paying no mind as Michael watched him.

After some time, Michael eventually broke the quiet, his voice coming from no one direction. “I have a gift for you as well, Martin Blackwood, should you choose to accept it.”

Martin tilted his head back slightly. Not enough to dislodge Michael or to be able to see him, but just so that he wasn’t hunched over the files while he had this conversation. “What kind of gift?”

“Oh, the only very best. Of course.”

“Of course,” Martin echoed. “Would you mind being… more specific? Please?”

“Hmmm… I _suppose.”_ Martin could _hear_ the smile in Michael’s voice. “I wish to provide you a… let’s call it a link of sorts.”

“A link?”

“Yes.” One of Michael’s hands rose from the desk, razor-sharp fingers folding in mind-bending ways until it _almost_ passed for a normal hand. Michael twirled a finger in Martin’s hair as he spoke. “You have a tendency to find yourself in dangerous situations, little assistant. How much safer would you be if you had a monster of your own at your call? Or, _heh,_ at your _knock_.”

“I… um,” Martin couldn’t help but shake his head a bit and pulled away. Michael easily maneuvered off of Martin. When Martin turned around to look at him, Michael was standing a respectable distance away—only a foot or two, but more than he usually afforded Martin.

“I, well.” Martin started again. He cleared his throat. “That sounds… really nice? I suppose? But, well, I just… I’m a little confused. Are you offering to be my—my what, my bodyguard?”

Michael laughed, the sound staticky and bouncing around inside of Martin’s skull. “Not _quite._ No, I am simply offering you a way to reach out to me. I cannot always watch over you, wonderful as that would be. But I could allow you access to my door.”

“Access? And doesn’t it, you know, compel people?”

Michael did what Martin could only approximate as a shrug. “Not unless I want it to. And I wouldn’t compel _you,_ Martin Blackwood.”

“… Right. How would ‘linking’ me to your door work?”

The smile-adjacent expression was back, more intense than Martin could ever remember seeing. “Just a small mark, a piece of the Spiral to call out to that which twists and lies. It would appear like one of those painted scars that some of you humans seem to be fond of.”

Martin blinked. “A tattoo? You’d give me a tattoo?”

“Ah, that’s what they’re called. Yes. It would go well with your stars.”

Martin willfully tried and failed to suppress the flush of red warmth that bled into his face. “Freckles. They’re freckles, Michael. Not stars.”

“But calling them stars suits you so well, Martin Blackwood. And doing so always causes such a nice color to form.”

Martin buried his flaming face into his new scarf. “Oh my _god,_ Michael.”

Michael’s laughter reverberated through the air. Martin could feel it in his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to hate it.

“Martin, what is _it_ doing here?”

Martin shot up, sitting ramrod straight as he whipped toward the sound of Jon’s voice. “Oh, uh—”

“Hello Archivist,” Michael rumbled. “I was coming by to greet my favorite of the Eye’s servants. Wasn’t that right, Martin Blackwood?”

Jon’s scowl really was something mighty to behold.

Oh god, did Martin just make an unintentional _pun—_

“Um.”

“He’s _working,_ Michael,” Jon ground out, not even bothering to veil his hostility. “Bother him on his _own_ time, if you’re so desperate.”

“You’re no _fun,_ Archivist.”

Oh no, Michael had taken on that tone, the flat one that was _just_ a pitch or two lower. The one that meant _danger._

“I’m not—”

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Martin said, pointedly ignoring Jon’s scandalized look as Martin cut him off. “I really _should_ get to work. Gotta, well, serve the Eye, I guess. But we can always talk later? When I’m not so busy.”

The smiling expression was back as Michael let his gaze fall back to Martin. “Of course. I’m more than willing to wait, little assistant.”

Before he could stop himself, Martin blurted, “You could just call me Martin, you know, right?”

Michael’s expression was radiant. As in he was _literally_ _glowing._ “Of course. I will see you and your stars again, _Martin._ Soon.” Michael turned briefly to Jon, expression dimming and inclining his head slightly. “Archivist. I’ll take my leave.”

It wasn’t too long afterwards that Michael was stepping back into his corridors, door swinging shut behind him before vanishing from sight.

Martin couldn’t help but let of a relieved sigh. Jon and Michael just could _not_ get on with each other at _all._ It was in everyone’s best interest that the two of them kept their interactions to a minimum. At least until they learned to be civil, for god’s sake.

“I don’t understand why you humor it,” Jon muttered darkly, eyes fixed onto where the yellow door had once been. “You’re only going to encourage it.”

“Better that than antagonizing him,” Martin countered. “Besides, he’s not… really all that bad.” His tone rose towards the end, coming out more uncertain than Martin would have liked it to.

Jon fixed him with an incredulous look. Martin valiantly suppressed a laugh. “‘Not really all that bad?’ That’s what you’re going with?”

Martin resisted the urge to swallow. Michael… was pretty dangerous. He was a _monster._ One that fed on other people’s fears and drew them into impossible corridors and had knives for fingers.

A monster that offered Martin protection and wiped away his errant tears and laid on him like an overly-affectionate pet and listened to him.

“Yeah. I am. I mean, I’m going with that, yeah.”

Jon just gave a sharp, disapproving noise and shook his head. It made Martin’s stomach drop coldly. “It’s bad enough that there are other Avatars who come in, but having… _that_ visit you here? I just think—”

“—That it’s a bad idea. I know, Jon. Trust me, I know. But they’re not—well, they _are_ dangerous. But they’re not hostile.”

“Not _yet._ That you know of.”

“They’re _not_ ,” Martin insisted. “Just… trust me?”

It was hard, but Martin held eye contact with Jon and resisted the urge to fidget through it. Jon just had a way of _looking_ at you and _seeing_ you in a way that made Martin tingle. He couldn’t tell if the sensation was pleasant or not.

Jon looked away first, lowering his gaze. “Fine. I’ll… I’ll trust you on this. But be _careful,_ Martin. These people— _monsters,_ they’re dangerous.”

“I know, Jon. I know.”

There were a few beats of tense, awkward silence.

Jon cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll be in my office if you need me. I’ll just, ah—”

Jon quickly made his way back to the door to his office, giving a stiff wave before ducking in.

Martin took in a deep, calming breath and turned his attention back to his work.

* * *

So yeah, Martin was being… _courted_ by several Avatars of varying Entities to join their side. And it was… really, really _weird._ Not even just weird—it was utterly surreal. Monsters powered by eldritch beings that were the fears that made up the world were doing their best to actively spend time around Martin. It was something that anyone would find downright unsettling.

Martin wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with him. Because, honestly? Martin wasn’t _that_ afraid. Yeah, he was nervous and more than a little wary at times, but he wasn’t actually outright afraid for the first time since—

Since…

Huh.

Well, it’d definitely been a good while at any rate.

The point was, all of the new people—beings? Martin didn’t quite know the best catch-all term to use—that had come into his life were… pretty okay, actually. Yeah, Michael kind of broke reality and talking with Helen sometimes gave him a headache and there were some days that Mike just seemed endlessly _empty_ and Simon had a restless, chaotic energy that hovered around him like a thick blanket and Jared had a habit of moving and bending in ways that were physically impossible and Jude burned just about anything she touched and Annabelle could be a bit… _spooky_ and he hadn’t ever actually _met_ Peter and—

He was getting off track.

Despite everyone’s oddities and quirks (and that was putting it lightly), they were all genuinely _nice_ to Martin in their own ways and it was just…

They were nice. It was nice.

People weren’t generally nice to Martin. Polite and civil, yeah, usually.

But _nice?_

Martin knew that it was stupid. Knew that the smart thing to do would be to keep his guard up, cut the others off, hole up in the archives and not engage with them as best as he could.

But he didn’t. And we wouldn’t.

_I guess this is just my life now._

_I don’t think I mind it too much._

* * *

Martin’s usual time for his lunch break rolled around just as he was finishing the last of his follow-up notes for the statement he had been working on. There was still a _lot_ more to do, but it was nice that he had hit a natural breakpoint in his work instead of having everything screech to halt for an hour while he went to go get something to eat. And yes, _maybe_ it would be more _productive_ if he put off lunch so that he could stay in the flow of his work, but meals were important, _Jon,_ and you can’t just skip them.

Speaking of Jon and lunch.

Martin pushed back from his desk and stretched his arms above his head for a bit before he went over to Jon’s office door. Melanie had been in earlier but she was gone now. Tim and Basira either hadn’t shown up for work at all (very likely in Tim’s case) or were somewhere else in the Institute, like the library (something that wasn’t uncommon for Basira). In short, it was just Martin. And Jon.

Martin squared his shoulders back, took a deep breath, and knocked on Jon’s door. Jon’s muffled cry of “come in” had Martin pushing the door open. Jon was sitting at his desk, reaching down to click off a tape recorder.

“Recording a statement?” Martin asked and then promptly wanted to bash his head into a wall. Of course Jon had just been recording a statement, he was holding the damn file in his hands and had just turned off the recorder and Martin felt like an _idiot—_

“In the middle of one, yes,” Jon said. “Was there something you needed, Martin?”

“Oh, well, it’s just past one and I was going to grab lunch and wanted to ask if you wanted to come along?” Not the worst invite Martin had given, but still too awkward.

“Ah. I see.” Jon sighed. Martin could already read his answer by the slant of his shoulders and the way his gaze dropped. “I’m afraid that I’m busy at the moment—recording this—and I’m not hungry at the moment, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Right,” Martin exhaled. “Is there, uh, anything that you’d want me to get for you while I—?”

“No, Martin. I’m fine.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll just… go then.”

Jon waved a dismissive hand. “Close the door, if you would.”

“Right.”

Martin closed the door.

… Christ, he needed some tea.

* * *

Martin milled about listlessly in the breakroom, waiting for the kettle to boil. The sting of Jon’s rejection had faded after Martin’s internal mantra of _“it wasn’t personal, it wasn’t personal, it wasn’t personal,"_ but that didn’t mean he felt _great_ right now. Having lunch alone wasn’t new to him, but… it just would have been nice to eat with Jon. Maybe catch up a bit, try to pave over the conversation they hard earlier that morning. Just… some time with Jon. Anyone.

Yeah, like Martin would be so lucky.

So now he was just standing there, staring off into some space above the countertop and waiting for the kettle to boil.

He didn’t turn around when he heard someone rap against the frame of the door. It wasn’t like Jon had suddenly decided to come over to grab lunch, not when he had a statement, and Martin wasn’t bitter, he _wasn’t—_

“You really are out of it, aren’t you?”

Martin let his awareness come seeping back into reality. He gave a quick shake of his head and looked to his left. Mike stood there, vacant smile fixed on his face and a throwaway plastic bag held at his side.

“Oh, hi!” Martin did his best not to squeak. “What are you—not that it isn’t great to see you! You usually just don’t show up at the Institute.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Mike admitted. “I don’t really mind Beholding’s gaze, but it’s something I’d rather do without. And your archives are underground. Which, well. You know.”

“Yeah. That… makes a lot of sense, yeah.”

“Mhm. But I was wandering about in the area and remembered that you mentioned eating around this time and—” Mike lifted up the bag, “—decided to grab you something. You said that you liked curry, if I remember right.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have—”

“But I wanted to,” Mike said. “Think of it as thanks for brewing me tea so many times and sharing your secret stash of _very_ good biscuits with me.”

“But—”

“No, sorry,” Mike shook his head, his smile unchanging yet somehow becoming more genuine. “I’ve already got you food and I don’t think that I can return it.”

Martin let out a huff, more fond exasperation than anything else at this point. “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, huh?”

“Something like that,” Mike conceded. “Here, you start on your food before it starts to go cold. I’ll finish up the tea.”

“Mike, really, I can at least—”

“No, I’ve got it—”

“It’s probably already—”

“Martin. I insist. Let me take care of it.” Mike’s impossibly blue eyes bored into Martin. “Please.”

It took Martin a moment to find his voice again. “… You’re, uh, getting a lot better at the caring thing. Or, seeming like it, I suppose?”

“You know, I think it’s _actual_ caring right now,” Mike confessed, tone still as polite and cordial as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s still new, but I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice, actually.”

“That’s… good. That’s _really_ good,” Martin smiled. “I think that’s great, Mike. I’m glad.”

“Thank you. Now, less talking and more eating the lunch I brought you, hm?”

“Alright, alright you win. This time.”

Mike grinned at him, the scent of ozone tickling at Martin’s nose and his head going somewhat dizzy. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go and actually sit down at the table instead of standing here and fussing over what I’m doing.”

Martin just rolled his eyes and took the bag of takeout from Mike. “I’ll have you know that I’m sitting down for most of the day when I’m working.”

Mike placed a hand on Martin’s arm, shoving him away but putting absolutely minimal force behind it. “Then go and stand at the table. This is meant to be your break, yeah? _Take_ it.”

Martin let himself be pushed, feeling himself smiling at the gesture. Mike could definitely throw Martin across the room and further if he wanted to. But no, it was a request, a suggestion, and one that he was making because he _cared._ It felt like a warm summer day settling in his chest. He gave a dismissive “Fine, fine,” and went to sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs at one of the nearby tables.

Mike, the scoundrel, had gotten him more than just curry and rice. A side of naan, an order of samoas, and an order of momos. Everything was still warm.

“Mike. This is way more than I can eat.”

“Take the leftovers home, then,” Mike said, not turning around as he reached into his messenger bag. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a teapot. “Have them for dinner, or—”

“Wait, hold on,” Martin interjected before he realized he was doing it. “You carry around a _teapot_?”

“Well, yes.” Mike placed said teapot on the counter and went back to searching for _something_ in his bag.

“ _Why_? Aren’t you worried it’ll break? How do you even have the _space_ for it?”

Mike actually stopped his rummaging to look at Martin. “Space isn’t… really an issue for the Vast.”

Martin couldn’t help but gape. “You have an _infinitely large_ bag?”

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” Mike pulled out two tins of tea from his bag. He squinted his eyes and regarded each tin carefully, though it was so _obvious_ to Martin that Mike’s heart wasn’t in it. Still, he play-acted his decision, finally nodding and putting one of the tins away. “It’s dead useful, believe me. Don’t know how I got on without it.”

“Well, most of us seem to manage fine,” Martin pointed out.

“I suppose. Now eat your curry, Martin.”

Martin just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes again. A quick search of the bag yielded him a plastic fork and some paper napkins. He glanced at Mike before he shoveled some rice into the curry and took a bite. It was really good curry. Martin made a mental note to ask Mike where he’d picked it up.

Martin was maybe halfway through the curry when Mike set the pot of tea down at the table. He quirked an eyebrow at Martin, the expression only a little bit off. “Cups?”

“I’ll get the mugs.”

“Or you could tell me where—”

“Nope,” Martin said, standing up. “You brought me lunch and made the tea. I’m getting the mugs.”

Mike took a seat to the right of Martin’s chair. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Martin caught the first hints of another smile forming on Mike’s face as he turned away towards the cabinets.

A lot of the mugs had cute images or silly puns printed on them. It was something that Jon had hated since day one but everyone else in the archives had liked it. But, of course, things had… changed. Tim no longer got a kick out of silly jokes, Sasha was… gone, Basira had more important things to worry about, and Melanie didn’t seem to care for much besides attacking Elias these days.

Martin grabbed the first two mugs he could and then headed back to the table. One of them had a cartoon teabag with the words “You’re Tea-riffic!” underneath it while the other was light blue with white polka dots. He held them out to Mike. “Which do you want?”

Mike’s head fell to one side, the motion mechanical and practiced. “Hm… I’ll take this one.” He reached out for the blue one. “Never really got the appeal of puns, I think. And I like the color of this one.”

Martin gave a brief hum of affirmation before settling back into his seat. Mike grabbed the pot and began to pour tea into Martin’s mug. Martin knew from experience that the contents of the pot wouldn’t run out, not while Mike was pouring it. Eldritch fear powers and all they entailed aside, it was a very convenient ability, made especially so since Mike’s tea was always brilliant.

They both sat in companionable quiet for a while, taking sips of their tea and, in Martin’s case, eating the curry.

Mike was the first to break the silence. “Any good?”

Martin was in the middle of a bite, so he could only let out a quick “Hm?”

“The curry. Is it any good?”

Martin swallowed. “Oh, yeah, it’s great. Better than most of the stuff I’ve had recently. I was actually meaning to ask you where you got it. I might get some for myself the next time I want it.”

“You know, I don’t rightly remember the place,” Mike said. “Can’t even tell you if it was nearby. One of the disadvantages of being so close to the Vast, I suppose. Distance behaves… oddly.”

“Oh. Maybe you’ll find it again?”

“I certainly hope so,” Mike smiled. “If it’s as good as you say then I’d like to get my hands on a bite of my own.”

Martin blinked. “You could have a bite of mine? If you want.”

“I can’t just steal your lunch, Martin.”

“But _you_ brought it for me,” Martin countered. “And there’s no chance I’ll finish it anyway.” That wasn’t technically true—Martin was hungry enough that he’d have been able to polish off the whole dish, but not if he ate any of the other things that Mike brought. “Really, you taking a bite won’t hurt.”

Mike regarded Martin cooly, something flickering behind his gaze that Martin couldn’t _quite_ pinpoint. Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Considered Martin some more.

Martin looked down at his curry and shifted in his seat. “Um, I—”

“Sure.”

“Pardon?”

Mike leaned forward towards Martin. “I’d like a bit of curry. If the offer still stands.”

“Oh! Right, let me just—”

Martin gathered a decent forkful of curry and turned to pass the fork to Mike. He froze when he saw that Mike had leaned just a bit closer, mouth open and making absolutely no move to take the fork away from Martin.

_Sweet Christ._

Martin could _feel_ his face catching on fire. He cleared his throat a bit. “Um.”

“Yes?”

Martin swallowed. “Nothing.” He carefully guided the fork to Mike’s mouth, watching as he bit down and dragged the curry off of the fork. Martin did his best not to jerk away like he had been burned.

“Mm… it is quite good,” Mike said once he had swallowed. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for the restaurant.”

“Right.”

“… You going to finish your curry?”

“Right,” Martin breathed out. He came back to himself with a jolt. “Right! Yes, I am. Um.”

Martin shoved a hasty bite of curry into his mouth. Wow, that spot on the far side of the table was _really_ interesting, must have been a stain there at some point, maybe he’d try to clean it.

Mike’s laughter rang through the room, full and genuine and strong. It was the first time Matin had _ever_ heard him laugh. It was a good sound. Martin probably would have appreciated it more if he weren’t so thoroughly flustered.

 _Get a grip! You just let him taste your curry, that’s it. You’re making this_ weird.

Martin finished off the curry and took a long drag of tea from his mug.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Mike said after a bit. “It’s… well, it’s been a while since I’ve brought someone food.” Mike’s brow furrowed in fake consideration. “This might be the only time I’ve done something like this, actually.”

“I think you did a pretty decent job at it,” Martin said slowly. “This was… nice. Thank you. For bringing lunch and keeping me company.”

Mike smiled, one of the most genuine that Martin had seen to date. “I’d love to do it again.”

Martin couldn’t have stopped himself from grinning back even if he had bothered to try.

* * *

Unfortunately, like all good things, Martin’s lunch break quickly came to an end. Eating with Mike had been a definite bright spot in his day and he clung to that as he made his way back down into the archives.

No one was there. Again.

Martin wasn’t surprised. But… he was a little disappointed. He supposed he’d just gotten use to random Avatars coming by to visit him all the time, which quite frankly should be alarming. And it was, a little. Maybe? Yeah, Martin _knew_ that they were dangerous and that it was stupid—so _incredibly_ stupid—to miss any of them, but they were honestly decent company. And they all seemed to genuinely care about him? Which, yeah, that was still taking some getting used to.

 _Being mopey about it isn’t going to help anyone,_ Martin scolded himself. _Right now you have a job to do. Even if it_ is _serving some eldritch fear thing. You have to help Jon. Just focus on that. Helping Jon._

Martin took a steadying breath and set about doing his work once more.

He had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Martin knocked on Jon’s door. “Jon?”

“What is—? Yes, come in.”

Martin opened the door and popped his head in. “It’s, uh, seven in the evening. Just… letting you know. That I’m headed home. And that you should get ready to go, too.”

Jon gave a hard, loud sigh through his nose. “Right. Thank you, Martin. I’ll… do that. Just as soon as I get this wrapped up.”

Martin knew all too well that was Jon-speak for “I’m going to stay here well past two in the morning but I don’t want to worry you or stop working so I’m going to lie to your face so that you go away.”

Fortunately, Martin knew just how to deal with this.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I can help you with it and then we can both leave together,” Martin said, giving Jon the most supportive smile he could. “That way you can get out of here a bit sooner.”

Jon’s eyes went a bit wider and he sat up straighter. “That—really won’t be necessary, Martin. It won’t take long at all. I can handle it myself.”

“Oh, all the more reason to stay,” Martin assured, knowing full well that Jon was desperately trying to deflect. “Won’t be much work on either of our parts so we can still get out at a reasonable time.”

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. Martin had to resist grinning as he watched Jon realize that he’d backed himself into a corner.

“… I’d appreciate it,” Jon managed to say after a few seconds too long. There was another substantial pause before Jon put together a few sheets of paper and handed them to Martin. “I just need you to cross-reference these accounts—find where they both corroborate information, give very little of it, or directly contradict each other.”

“Okay.” Martin took the papers and scanned them over quickly. Looked like something to do with the Stranger. Yeah, that checked out. “Give me maybe half an hour? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Right. I’ll just get back to…” Jon gestured at the mess of files on his desk.

“Good luck,” Martin said, only a bit cheekily. “I’ll be at my desk if you—”

“You could stay here.”

Martin blinked rapidly. Twice. “What?”

“I just mean to say,” Jon said, words tumbling out almost as though he were about to start _rambling,_ “that you could very well stay in here if you like. There are chairs and you don’t, ah, strictly need access to your computer. But if you want to return to your own workspace then don’t let me stop you.”

“No, that’s, um, that’s—” Martin stopped himself before he could stutter his way into an early grave. “That’s. Fine. It’s good! I’d love—it’d be nice. To stay.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

There were a few awkward seconds where Jon and Martin just stared at each other and Martin cataloged the vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassed expression on Jon’s face and noted that Jon was a bit more flushed than usual but that probably just Martin projecting or the lighting or something and it was getting weird now so Martin just going to go and actually _sit down_ now.

Martin cleared his throat and plopped down into one of the two rickety chairs available and did his best to _not_ let his gaze slide up to look at Jon again. Soon enough, he heard the sound of Jon shuffling papers, getting back to work.

They worked in companionable silence, only broken up the one time when Martin asked Jon for a pen so he could make some notes and Jon leaned comically far over his desk to pass one to Martin.

It was good. A lot better than working alone in a big, open room. It was almost peaceful.

Martin finished the last of his annotations—the accounts aligned almost perfectly with each other—just as Jon tucked away the last of the errant papers on his desk.

“Finished?”

“For now, yes,” Jon sighed. “There’s still some follow-up to be done but this is as good a stopping point as any. I’ll grab my coat and then we can walk to the station.”

Martin mumbled his agreement and carefully placed the notated papers on Jon’s desk, taking care to align the edges as neatly as he could.

Jon was shrugging on his coat when Martin started to head back to my desk. “Just need to get my bag,” Martin explained despite the fact that Jon hadn’t asked or looked even vaguely curious.

The book of sonnets—Peter’s gift—was still on his desk. Martin had been too afraid to move it around a lot. He knew it was silly, but it just felt… really _weird_ manhandling something that had so much value. He hadn’t bothered to look up how much the book cost. He was sure that whatever the number was would send him into shock. As it was, he couldn’t just leave it here so that meant he’d have to take it with him.

He reached under his desk to pull out the gift basket from where he’d put it to keep it out of the way and took out all of the tissue paper. He carefully wrapped it around the book to form a flimsy and crinkly shield, but it still made him feel better about it as he tucked it into his bag. Martin gave it a comforting pat through the bag once it was inside.

He heard Jon make a small, curious noise behind him. “Extra reading?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. It wasn’t a lie—it _was_ extra reading. Just… not in the way that Jon thought. Which was fine. Who knew, maybe Jon would start thinking that he was actually competent if he thought Martin was doing more research on his own time. _That_ was certainly preferable to explaining the whole situation.

Jon gave a noncommittal hum as Martin turned around. “Ready to go?”

Martin smiled. “Yeah, let’s.”

They walked out of the Institute and into the cool evening air, exchanging bits of small talk and, when Martin was feeling particularly brave, banter. 

It was nice to just spend time with Jon, to just _talk_ and make him roll his eyes or see the edges of his lips quirk up.

It was the first time Martin had wished that the walk to the station was a lot longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious that this is the first time I've written for any of these characters? I hope not, lol.
> 
> I hope you liked this incredibly self-indulgent fic so far! If you did, please leave kudos, bookmark, or comment!! They really make my day.
> 
> Thank you for reading and have a great day!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is gonna end up being three chapters because my idiot self decided to add some Tim in because I love him.
> 
> Anyway! Thank you for reading and here is chapter two!!

For the life of him, Martin couldn’t remember where or when he’d first learned how to knit. He’d picked it up from _somewhere,_ but the memory was always hazy, lost to time. It didn’t particularly bother Martin, not really. The memory would have been nice, but Martin could certainly do without it.

The point was that Martin knew how to knit and had for quite a while. He wasn’t particularly great at it or anything, but it was something that he found soothing whenever he was feeling restless. It felt good to make something, even if it would never see anything outside of his flat. It was a quiet activity that he found extremely peaceful and pleasant.

Sharing that time with someone hadn’t been something he’d been too keen on at first, but he was glad for it now.

“How’s your cowl coming along?” Martin asked.

“Very well, thank you for asking. I believe I’m getting close to finishing. And your scarf?”

Martin looked over his creation with a critical eye. “As well as can be expected.”

“Well I think it looks lovely.”

“Of course you would.”

Annabelle just smiled indulgently at him.

Annabelle had first visited Martin while he was in the archives—big surprise there—and Jon was out of the country. She’d been upfront with who she was and why she was there and had asked Martin if he would care to join her for lunch or an early afternoon tea. Martin had declined. Annabelle had simply nodded, thanked him for his time, and asked if she could visit at a later time. After a few minutes of consideration, Martin had begrudgingly agreed on the condition that she wasn’t to harm anyone there and that Jon wasn’t to see her at _all._

And so she’d taken to dropping in every so often.

At first, their conversations had left Martin feeling awkward and wary. Annabelle was rather unsettling, though Martin wasn’t sure if that had to with the influence of the Web or if she was just… like that. Still, he had eventually gotten used to her and had cautiously opened up just a bit to her. Even now, months into their friendship, he was careful of just what he said to her.

He had mentioned his penchant for knitting to her, though, during one of their chats. She’d told him that she knew how to knit, too, though she greatly preferred weaving on her loom. Martin hadn’t been surprised in the slightest by that.

And well, the rest was history. Now they would meet up every week or so at Martin’s flat and just… knit together.

Jon would _kill_ him if he ever found out.

“You mentioned that Mike Crew visited you today?”

He hadn’t, but Martin had long since given up on being creeped out by just how much Annabelle knew. “Yeah, he did. Brought me lunch. It was nice.”

“Mhm. And the Distortion?”

“Oh, Michael? He showed up too, yeah. Just laid on me like a cat the way he always does, offered to murder Peter again. Jon came in and told him off which did _not_ make Michael happy.”

Annabelle chuckled. “Did the Distortion stab the Archivist again?”

“No, thank _god._ I still can’t believe that a bread knife is the best that Jon came up with for that injury. How stupid does he think I am?”

“Only as smart as himself, I’m sure. Though that isn’t saying much.”

“Ha _ha_ , Jon’s an idiot, I know. You don’t need to remind me.”

“It never hurts to do so. Or to poke fun at a servant of the Eye—that one is practically mandatory.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh, _obviously,_ how could I forget.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. _Do_ keep up, Martin. And count your rows.”

Martin cursed under his breath to the sound of Annabelle’s laughter.

They chatted occasionally for the rest of the evening, knitting away, before Annabelle left. Just like always, she placed a quick kiss on Martin’s cheek and, just like always, Martin brushed away the cobwebs she left behind once he had closed the door.

It was a strange little ritual, but one that Martin was glad for.

* * *

Tim and Basira were actually at their desks the next morning when Martin showed up. There was no reason that he should have been surprised by this fact, but for some reason he still was.

“Oh, hello,” Martin greeted as jovially as he could manage. “How are you two doing?”

Tim just shrugged but Basira actually turned to look at him. She glanced at Tim. “We’re holding up alright. Trying to get through the day. I have a few books I’m planning on reading and I think Tim is looking more into the Stranger. Just… another freaky work day.”

Martin let out a dry laugh. “Sounds about right. Do you know if Jon and Melanie are in?”

“Jon is in his office,” Basira replied. “Melanie was here earlier, but she left to go and take care of something. Didn’t say what. 

Figured. “Ah, okay. Thank you.” 

Basira hummed in acknowledgment before turning back to the book that she was reading. Martin took that as his cue to get to work. 

* * *

Jared, despite being absolutely huge and his ability to turn and twist the bones of others, was surprisingly decent company.

Martin wished he could still bring himself to be surprised by things like that.

“I’d have thought that climbing was more of a Vast thing?” Martin asked politely as he shuffled through some files.

Jared gave a low rumble. “No. I didn’t care about getting high up. And it was inside. It’s a good workout.”

“Oh, right, your gym. How’s that going?”

Jared gave a crooked grin with far too many teeth. “Good. It’s _good._ Everyone there is finding the bodies they want. You could, too. If you wanted.”

Martin did _not_ allow a shiver of fear to creep down his spine. “I’m perfectly happy with my body,” he lied, “but thank you for the offer.” 

Jared laughed, a low and deep thing. “You’re right. Your body _is_ nice.” 

That was not even remotely what Martin had said but he still couldn’t stop his cheeks from flushing. “Th-thank you.”

Jared just hummed in response.

Martin went about sifting through the rest of the files and folders in relative peace, finding the relevant cases and pulling them out. Once he had gone through all of them, he shut the door to the filing cabinet and shoved everything under his arm. 

Jared wandered into the archives sometimes—not nearly as often as Michael and Helen did, but he dropped by more than a lot of the others did. Rosie didn’t even try to stop him anymore, just handed him a visitor’s badge and went about her business.

Jared had been really happy about Martin keeping the bone-heart on his desk.

“Welp, that should be it for now,” Martin said, standing up fully. “Back to the ol’ desk so I can sort through these.”

“Lot of work,” Jared commented idly.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. And this one is actually— _Christ!”_

Martin, much to his _extreme_ embarrassment, tripped over _literally nothing_ and went stumbling towards the ground. Some part of him, a very foolish part, thought, _I can’t drop the files!_ So he reached out to stop his fall with only his right hand.

It _hurt_ when it slammed against the stone floor. Martin yelped.

“Ow ow _ow_ ow—”

“You okay?” Jared asked, crouching next to Martin.

“I think?” Martin held his hand up in front of his chest. His wrist _hurt_ in a way that was more than being just a bit sore from a fall. “I’m not dying or anything—god, that’d be pathetic—but there's definitely pain. More than there should be, I think? Not altogether pleasant but—” 

“Could I look?” 

Martin turned to look at Jared fully. “What?”

“I can check,” Jared explained. “I’ve helped with injuries, first aid sort of things at the gym. Can I?” 

Martin swallowed nervously. Jared wasn’t likely to hurt him—he’d had plenty of opportunities to do so before if he’d wanted to—and Martin didn’t think he was lying. But he felt perfectly justified in the slight amount of discomfort that wormed its way into his stomach and _wow_ he really should have worded that better because now he was thinking of Prentiss and that was just _not_ on.

“Okay,” Martin said at last, moving his injured wrist a bit closer to Jared. “Just… be careful.” 

“Yes,” Jared nodded. He reached out with giant, broad hands to take Martin’s into his own. They were very big and warm and surprisingly gentle. Jared ran his fingers over Martin’s skin, lightly pressing at certain points along his hand.

When he reached Martin’s wrist and pressed, Martin tried to suppress a whimper. “Yeah, that’s—that’s where it is.” 

Jared nodded but didn’t say anything. Instead, he readjusted his grip on Martin’s hand to better cradle his wrist. He prodded around a bit more, still shockingly gentle, and Martin was sure to inform him which presses caused pain. 

“I’ve seen this one before,” Jared said after a bit. “Don’t remember what it’s called, but I know how to fix it.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Martin sighed. “What sort of treatment would I need?” 

“No treatment,” Jared said. “I can fix it. It’s a problem with your bone.”

“… You’d turn my bones,” Martin said. It was meant to come out as a question. 

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jared informed. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. I can just fix it. It’s a small break, a fracture.” 

… Martin should say no. He _really_ should say no. But it was his right hand and he couldn’t very well go around with a bone fracture in his dominant hand. People needed him at his best, not down one hand for who knew how long.

So, yeah, it was stupid. It was _so_ stupid. But…

Martin couldn’t fail them. He _refused._

“Alright,” Martin agreed. He took in a shaky breath. “Be careful?” He winced when he realized he’d said the same thing not even five minutes ago. 

Jared just smiled. “Always.”

Martin looked away, and only part of it was because he didn’t want to see someone reaching through him to grab his bones. 

He could feel _something_ happening when Jared reached into him. It was definitely uncomfortable and deeply unsettling, but it didn’t hurt. It was this strange, rippling pressure that made the skin of his arm feel both too tight and somehow not _enough._ Martin suppressed a shudder. 

Finally, the feeling receded. “There. All done.”

Martin turned back to look at Jared, the Avatar giving him a more subdued smile than before. Martin gingerly retracted his wrist and slowly moved it this way and that, flexing and rotating it around.

“This feels great,” he said. “Like it’s brand new.” Martin looked up and offered a tentative smile. “Thank you, Jared. I really appreciate it. I don’t know how I’d be able to work without you helping to, well, heal me, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome. Happy to do it.”

Martin felt his smile grow a bit at that. “Well, still, it’s—” 

The door to the filing room opened. “Martin, have you—” Jon stopped dead in his tracks, words abruptly coming to a halt. His eyes widened ever so slightly. 

That was when Martin realized that he was _still_ on the ground with Jared crouched next to him, files under his arm, and cheeks somewhat flushed with Jared smiling at him. Oh _god._

“Th-the files! Yeah!” Martin scrambled to his feet. “Y-yeah! They’re right here. I, ah, these are the ones! I found them. I—” 

“I’ll take those,” Jon said, words tumbling out a bit faster than he normally spoke. “You can go back to, erm, what—”

“Oh, no, no!” Martin waved his hands, doing his best to keep just how frantic he was out of his voice. “I want to help! Sorry, I just—um, well—”

“Don't worry, it's fine—” 

“No, really—”

“I can handle it—”

“I just broke a bone, is all—”

“It’s no tr—hang on, did you just say you broke a _bone_?” Jon looked absolutely flabbergasted. 

Martin nodded, fast and jerkily. “Yeah! It, uh, I don’t think it was bad?” Martin turned back to Jared, who had also gotten up and was slouching over so his head didn’t hit the ceiling. “Was it bad?”

“No. Only a fracture.”

“How did you give yourself a bone fracture?”

Martin ducked his head down. “I—well, it’s not important, but, um, I may have fallen? I did fall, I mean. I tried to catch myself but I guess the angle was wrong? It hurt but it’s fine now! Jared was fixing it for me.” Martin held up his newly-healed wrist. “See? Good as new!”

That was when Martin remembered that no, Jon did _not_ have x-ray vision and could not, in fact, see Martin’s bones. 

Martin clamped down the urge to scream.

“I see,” Jon said, despite the fact that Martin _knew_ that he _didn’t._ “I’m glad that it was easy to heal. And sorry that you fractured it in the first place.”

“It’s fine! All better now!” Martin tried to laugh it off. It came out stilted and bordering manic. “Let’s get back to work now?”

Jon nodded. “Yes. That… sounds like a good idea.” 

“Sorry, Jared,” Martin said, turning back to his companion once again. “It was great to chat with you and all—and thank you again for the lovely art piece you gave me, but I really do have to get back to work. It was lovely catching up with you, though.”

Jared smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m glad you like it. It was good to talk and see you, Martin. I can find my way out.”

“Okay! Good luck with the gym!” Martin called out as Jared made his way past Jon, ducking down to fit through the doorframe. They gave a quick wave to each other and then Jared was moving his bulk down the hallway and out of the Institute.

Jon waited until Jared was out of sight, vanishing around a corner, before he turned to Martin. “I didn’t realize he was here.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. He found me when I was heading out of the archives and over on the way to document storage. I would have let someone know, otherwise.”

“I know,” Jon said, something that sounded… almost _warm_ in his tone. Martin knew it was just wishful thinking, though. “In any case, thank you for retrieving those files. I… I wouldn’t mind your help with them. If you’re free.”

“Of course I am!” Martin grinned. “I’m always happy to help you, Jon.”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon gave a small, hesitant smile in return. It was stiff and awkward, but it was _real_ and directed at _him_ and Martin committed its shape and curve and the way it made the corner of Jon’s eyes crinkle to memory like he did every time Jon looked even remotely happy with him. “Thank you, Martin.”

“You’re welcome,” Martin managed to breathe out. “Let’s, uh, go and work on this, then?”

“Yes, of course,” Jon said. He paused for a moment and continued in a less sure tone, “And, maybe afterward we could, ah, grab lunch together?”

Martin’s heart was beating so fast that it threatened to leap out of his chest. Jon _never_ asked Martin to grab lunch with him—it was always Martin dragging Jon away from work. Did this mean, maybe, Jon wanted to actually spend time with him?

Martin did his best to shove down his racing thoughts until he could address them later and freak out in the privacy of his own flat. “I’d love to, Jon. That sounds—it sounds really nice.”

“Great. Brilliant.” Jon coughed into his hand. “But, first, work?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Today was shaping up to be a good day.

* * *

It was getting close to the end of the day when Martin’s phone went off. Giving in to temptation, he took a quick glance at the screen.

 **MESSAGES  
** **Jude** 🔥 **: hey, you up for some hijinks after work?**

Martin took a quick glance around. Jon was in his office, as per usual, and Tim was the only other person there. He turned back to his phone.

**Me: I don’t think that I’m the hijinks type? But yeah, sounds like it could be fun. What are we doing?**

**Jude** 🔥 **: lmao, don’t worry it’ll be fun, I promise**

 **Jude** 🔥 **: also Mike is tagging along because he wants to be there for it and we’ll need a second opinion**

**Me: What for????**

**Jude** 🔥 **: >:3c**

**Me: Oh god please no**

**Jude** 🔥 **: that’s the spirit**

 **Jude** 🔥 **: we’ll pick you up at five so don’t you DARE think of staying late**

**Me: Yessir**

**Jude** 🔥 **: see you in 10**

Martin couldn’t help but let out a small huff of laughter. Jude was… well. She was definitely interesting. Somewhat sadistic and easy to irritate, but she had a protective streak a mile wide and Martin somehow fit under that category. He was quite thankful for that—Jude was _not_ the sort of person that Martin was keen on antagonizing.

He stood up from his desk. “I’m headed out for the day.”

“Sure, whatever,” Tim said, voice flat and deadpan. “I’ll just stay here and clock in some more hours for our evil boss.”

“… Right.” Martin fidgeted. “You know, if you ever want to talk—or need anything at all—”

“Yeah yeah, I get it,” Tim rolled his eyes. His tone stung a bit, but it was so much better than how lifeless it had been. “You’ll be here with tea and biscuits for whoever the fuck wants one and an untenable number of fear monsters flocking behind you. Thanks, but no.”

“Oh, okay. Um. Let me know if you change your mind, though. Not about the monster thing, but the talking and tea thing.”

Silence.

“I’ll… be going then.”

“You do that.”

Martin made quick work of getting out of the archives.

* * *

That was how Martin found himself being dragged through the streets of London by one Mike Crew following the insistence of one Jude Perry. If not for her whole… burning-touch thing, Martin had no doubt Jude would be the one clutching his wrist and tugging him along. As it was, Mike’s hand left a tingly feeling on Martin’s skin—like the aftereffects of a static shock—and no one even came close to bumping into them. Whether that was because of the general auras Mike and Jude gave off or something more... active, like Mike calling on the Vast to add more space around them, Martin didn't know.

Martin decided to not look too closely into it

“So, uh, where are we going again?” Martin asked.

“Never said in the first place, Martin,” Jude sing-songed over her shoulder, throwing Martin a sharp and mischievous smile. “Don’t you trust me?”

Martin scoffed, biting back a smile of his own. “Not even enough to keep my pet rock fed.”

Jude let out a short bark of laughter. “Smart of you, _Blackwood_.”

“‘S why I’m still alive, _Perry._ ”

Jude gave him another smile, her expression bordering on feral, before she turned back to actually pay attention to where she was going.

Mike squeezed his wrist gently. “I could feed your pet rock. I happen to have it on good authority that I have great taste in food.”

“Crew, shut _up_ ,” Jude said, not even bothering to glance back.

Martin did his best to hold in his laughter, but he pointedly ignored Jude and grinned brightly at Mike. “Yes, Mike, I trust you to hypothetically feed my imaginary pet rock. His name is William and he only eats rainbow sprinkles.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “I’ll have to look into this. It’s very important that—”

“You’re both such losers,” Jude announced. “ _Anyway,_ we’re here. C’mon.”

They were stopped in front of a small shop front with big display windows that revealed a warm, cozy-looking interior with clothing on display. 

“Um,” Martin said as Mike opened the door for them. Jude used a gloved hand—she always wore gloves when she was going to be around Martin and he honestly thought it was kind of sweet—to push him through the threshold, heat licking at his skin where Jude had made contact, though not burning him. Martin had no choice but to stumble into the store, his entrance accompanied by the faint tinkling of a bell.

Martin quickly regained his balance, Jude and Mike having stepped fully inside by the time he had, the door closing behind them. Martin turned to fix a half-joking glare onto them. Jude was grinning lazily and Mike’s eyes were bright.

“What was that for?”

“Just a bit of _fun,_ ” Jude said, grin still firmly in place. “No harm done, hm?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “You know that very well. Now would you _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

“Oh Martin,” Jude giggled. “I do so love it when you beg.”

Martin very maturely stuck his tongue out at her. Jude just laughed harder. He turned to Mike, doing his best to plead through expression alone.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Mike said. His tone was mostly blank, but a smile was slowly creeping onto his face and his eyes were alight with something—Martin may even dare to call it fond. “You can’t expect me to put up a fight against that.”

Jude reached over to punch Mike in the shoulder, hard but playful. “Shut it, manlet. Slow your roll.”

“I’d rather not, if that’s all the same to you.”

“Guys,” Martin hissed out. Mike and Jude would banter back and forth _forever_ if he didn’t stop them now.

“Fine, fine,” Jude sighed. “We’re here to get you a leather jacket.”

That… was not what Martin had been expecting. “What? A leather jacket? Why?”

“ _Everyone_ needs at least one good leather jacket. They’re comfortable and look tough as hell. They also keep you warm but,” Jude shrugged, “that one has gotten a bit lower on the priority list for me.”

“Mike doesn’t have—”

“Yeah I do.”

Martin fixed Mike with a puzzled look, brow furrowed. “You have—”

Mike jerked his head in Jude’s direction. “She insisted. I’ve worn it once or twice when I wanted to Fall. It was nice, having it whip out around me. Warm once I’d landed. Not a bad experience, all in all.”

“Huh. I guess you never struck me as the type? But I can see it now. A bit.”

“The _point_ is,” Jude interjected, “that you are in sore need of a leather jacket. And we’re here to fix that today. Now come on—I have my eyes on a few that I think you’d like.”

“Wait, you already scoped out—”

“Come _on,_ Blackwood.”

And so Martin was subjected to trying on jacket after jacket under Jude and Mike’s assessing gazes. Jude kept a close eye on the fit and overall style of the jackets, outright refusing to let Martin try some on because the “cut is all wrong, Blackwood, really now” while Mike made sure to question the practicality of them—how many pockets were there, was the lining warm enough, was it easy to button or zip up?

The whole process was tiring, but Martin found himself getting caught up in the excitement of it all, shrugging an uncountable number of jackets on and off while exchanging barbs with Jude and Mike.

“Oh, I think this one is promising,” Jude practically _cooed._ She passed Martin a new jacket as Mike helped him out of the most recent one that had been a bit too tight. “Size looks right, cut is nice, synthetic leather so your _precious_ cows are fine, and—”

“Just give it here.” Martin finally freed himself of his last jacket and grabbed the one Jude held out and put it on.

The fit was—well, it wasn’t _perfect._ Martin couldn’t imagine anyone finding clothes that fit perfectly without having a tailor or something. So yeah, it wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty close. Easy enough to get on and Martin could move easily in it, but it still rested comfortably and somewhat snug against him. It was surprisingly comfortable for what it was.

“Three pockets,” Mike noted, “all with zippers. Is it—”

“I wasn’t sure about the gold zippers and buttons,” Jude said, “but it suits you rather well.”

“The lapels are nice, too,” Mike noted. “Whole thing looks good, actually. Very handsome on you.”

Martin could feel his face warming at the casual compliments. “Well, I-I’m sure it’s a really nice jacket—”

“And a _very_ nice model,” Jude winked.

Martin laughed. “Why Miss Perry, since when did you flirt with men?”

“Only when they’re completely gay and won’t take it seriously,” Jude smiled.

Martin couldn’t help but laugh again at that. “It _is_ a nice jacket. And it’s really comfortable and pretty warm. And—” Martin reached down and fumbled with the zipper for a bit before it caught. He pulled it up with ease. “Yeah, zips nicely, which is always a plus.”

Mike nodded approvingly at that. Jude just rolled her eyes.

Martin unzipped the jacket and shrugged it off. “Now, where is…” Martin turned the jacket over until he found the tag. There was the brand name, the barcode, the price—

“Oh, never mind,” Martin sighed. “Let’s keep looking.”

Jude’s brow furrowed in frustrated confusion. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s, uh, a bit out of my price range,” Martin laughed nervously. “All good things come at a price, right? Ha.”

Jude stared _hard_ at Martin. He could practically feel her gaze burning into him, an ancient and fierce fire blazing in her eyes. Martin swore he could feel himself starting to melt.

Finally, Jude’s face smoothed over and she sighed. She glanced at Mike for a few seconds before nodding slightly and turning back to Martin. “Right, okay. Take that off and I’ll put it back and get another batch for you to try on. Don’t dare try anything out—Mike’s fashion sense can’t be trusted.”

“Excuse me—”

“No, I’m not going to excuse you.”

“—But my sense of fashion is perfectly adequate.”

“Mike, you wear _scarves_ all the time—”

“That is for practical purposes—”

“—And you’re distracting me,” Jude finished. “I’ll see you boys in a bit.”

And just like that, Jude was marching off further into the store.

“Shame about the price,” Mike commented idly, “and that you’ll be stuck here for longer.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Martin assured him. “I mean, shopping and trying on clothes isn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world, but doing it with you and Jude—it’s fun. I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

Mike smiled and it was only slightly off. He placed a hand on Martin’s arm, right above his elbow, and gave a gentle squeeze. Martin couldn’t say for certain if the tingling sensation that resulted was from Mike’s abilities or... something else. “I’m glad to hear that. Martin.”

Martin swallowed. “Right. Um—”

“Alright boys!” Jude shouted, suddenly appearing beside them. Martin swore he jumped about a meter into the air. Mike was utterly unfazed. “Let’s head out.”

“What?” Martin asked. “Head out? What about finding—”

Jude held up a bag with the logo of the shop emblazoned on it. “We found it already, remember? The very nice one with the gold bits.”

“B-but we agreed—”

“Mm, I don’t remember an agreement,” Jude hummed. “Mike, do _you_ remember an agreement?”

Mike shrugged. “Nope.”

“That’s—that’s not _fair,_ you two! You can’t just—”

“Too bad,” Jude all but sang out. “I already burned the receipt and we’re certainly not about to let you talk the cashier into giving it back. Now take out your jacket and put it on.”

Mike didn’t even bother to look sympathetic.

Martin couldn’t help the feeling of frustration at being deceived and having the two of them go around his back, but…

This was what friends actually did, wasn’t it? Gave gifts to each other and teased and didn’t do anything to actually hurt one another. It also didn’t hurt that Martin knew neither Mike nor Jude would ever treat him like a charity case—both of them cared very little, if at all, for charity.

It was for those reasons that Martin reverently took the bag from Jude. He took out the jacket and unfolded it. Jude must have gotten them to take the tag off because it was gone now. Martin put it on with the same amount of care that most people handled newborns with.

He turned to Jude and tried to put in everything he felt behind the soft and strong, “Thank you,” he managed to breathe out.

Jude slapped him lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t mention it, Blackwood. Now c’mon, Crew promised us a free dinner.”

Martin laughed at the affronted look on Mike’s face and the sinister smile Jude was wearing.

He was so incredibly happy to have them both as his friends.

* * *

After a rambunctious and delicious dinner, Martin found himself being walked home by Jude. Mike had apparently been summoned for something, giving a hasty farewell and thanks before he paid and raced off. Martin was still wearing his jacket. He loved it.

“Thank you for tonight,” Martin said. “I’m sure that I would have just stayed late working or spent the night at home in my flat if you hadn’t texted me. This was… really fun.”

“Yeah, I know, Blackwood,” Jude drawled. “Always pining over that Archivist of yours. I really don’t know what you see in him.”

“Wha—I—he—I don’t—”

“He was very rude to me, you know. And Mike, too. He’s lucky that I didn’t Burn him and that Mike didn’t have him Fall for a bit.”

“Yeah, he was. That’s why I had him apologize to both of you. Do you know how long it took him to agree to that? I had to end up promising to go home early _and_ let him stay _late_ for that.”

Jude laughed. “You’re a regular old sweetheart, Blackwood.”

Martin bumped into Jude’s shoulder, her heat leaving his upper arm warm from the brief contact. “And you’re a bit of a bastard, Perry.”

Jude just laughed again and the two of them pressed onwards in companionable silence.

They were almost to Martin’s flat when Jude spoke up again.

“Nikola reached out to me the other day. About you.”

Martin faltered, freezing mid-step for a moment before he fell back into his stride. The air suddenly felt heavier around him, tension creeping into his shoulders. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Said she wanted to visit you. Try to win you over with the rest of us.”

“… What did you tell her?”

“That I’d ask your permission.” Jude gave Martin a quick glance. “I wasn’t about to tell her something without letting you know.”

Martin let out a sigh. “Right. Right. Okay.”

“Okay? She can—?”

“No! No. God, no. I don’t want her or the Circus or anything involving the Stranger anywhere near me or the rest of the people in the archives— _especially_ Jon and Tim. Not after—not… not after Sasha. And what her… _group_ did to Tim’s brother.”

Jude nodded. “I figured that you’d say that. I’ll pass it back to Nikola. She won’t be happy with it, but she’ll respect it.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

The grin that formed on Jude’s face was a nasty, sinister thing, filled to the brim with fire and death. “Don’t worry about that one, Blackwood.”

“Righto.”

* * *

When Martin got into the archives the next day, he waited a few minutes before heading over to Tim’s desk. “Tim? Can we—there’s something I’d like to talk about? With you.”

It took a little bit, but Tim finally looked up. “Sure, whatever. Go ahead.”

“Um, in private? Please?”

Tim flung his head back and groaned. “ _Fine._ Suppose it’s not any bloody worse than doing nothing all day.”

And so Martin led Tim to one of the empty rooms in the archives. He thought it was meant to be an office of sorts, but no one used it anymore. Not it just housed all of Jon’s “Discredited” statements. Tim quickly slumped into one of the chairs in a way that Martin considered physically impossible and fixed Martin with a thoroughly annoyed look.

“So, um,” Martin swallowed. “I talked with Jude last night. She’s—”

“Evil fire lady with the burning powers, I _know,_ Martin. Get on with it.”

“Right. Well, she told me that, uh.” Martin took in a shaky breath. “She told me that Nikola had asked about me.”

Tim’s petulant and angry expression fell to something that was forcibly blank. “ _What_?”

“Apparently Nikola asked if she could visit me here and—”

Martin nearly flinched at the _rage_ that flooded Tim’s face.

“—And I told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t allowed _anywhere_ near her, especially you and Jon. And Jude heavily implied that if Nikola tried to go against that then she wouldn’t last very long and it was honestly a bit scary what—”

“What did you mean, ‘especially’?”

Martin shook his head a bit. “P-pardon?”

“What did you mean by especially me and Jon?” Tim asked. “Why especially _me_? Afraid I’ll do something to—”

“No! I’m worried that she could _hurt_ you.”

Tim scoffed.

“Tim! I’m serious! You’re someone that I care about and I’m not just going to—to stand by and let some creepy mannequin lady who’s with the _things_ that killed—that did _that_ to—t-to… I’m your _friend,_ Tim. Or at least I like to think so, even if you don’t. I care about you and even if the Stranger weren’t planning on ending the whole world, I _still_ wouldn’t let them anywhere near me or you or _anyone_ because of what they’ve done to us and—”

“Martin. Breathe.”

Martin immediately took a huge gulp of breath. He blinked fiercely and realized that he had been shouting towards the end of that. He felt his face flush in embarrassment.

Neither of them spoke for a length of time, only Martin’s heavy breathing keeping them from descending into complete silence.

Finally, Tim let out a sigh and stood up from his chair. Martin ducked his head down and refused to look back up. He’d told Tim and made a damned fool of himself in the process. Great, just great. God, now he had to get through the whole day at work and—

Martin felt large, warm arms encircle him. He jolted at the contact and let his head snap up.

“I’m still fucking furious,” Tim mumbled into Martin’s shoulder, the cloth of his jumper muffling the words ever so slightly, “at you and Jon and everything else. But yeah, I’d like to consider you a friend. I don’t need you coddling me from everything but it’s—it’s nice to know that you care. That you actually give a damn.”

Martin threw his arms around Tim and _squeezed._ “Of course I care. We’re friends—we’ve been here since the beginning. We know what—what it was like. Getting everything second-hand from Jon, the c-corridors, and—a-and—”

“Sasha,” Tim whispered.

“Y-yeah.”

Tim buried himself into Martin’s shoulder, hands clutching at his jumper. “I miss her, Martin. I miss her so damn _much_ and I can’t even _remember_ her.”

“I know, Tim.”

“And I-I miss Danny, too. They—they _took_ him and I couldn’t—I couldn’t do _anything._ ”

Martin brought up a hand and carded his fingers through Tim’s hair. “I know.”

If Martin felt a patch of dampness spreading where Tim’s face was buried or felt Tim’s breath hitch against him, he didn’t take any notice of it except to hold Tim just a bit tighter and run a comforting hand across his back in slow circles.

Once Tim’s breath was steady and Martin’s jumper was beginning to dry a bit, Tim loosened his hands and pulled back a bit, but not away. Martin didn’t bother asking if he was alright.

“Thank you,” Tim said after a few moments. “I… I think I need that.”

“Of course. A-anytime.”

Tim snorted. Martin had never heard him do that before and resolved to get him to do it again. “No offense, but I never want to do this again.”

“Open up?”

“No, cry my eyes out into a coworker in an abandoned storage room. Once is enough.”

Martin couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, that’s—that’s fair. But, um, if you need to do it again, I’d be willing to lend a hand. Or shoulder, I guess.”

Tim pulled away and pushed at Martin’s shoulder with a smile on his face. “Bastard.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure my parents _were_ married—”

Tim pushed at Martin again, laughter bubbling out of him. “Shut _up,_ Martin.”

“Alright, shutting up now.”

Tim shook his head. “You’re such a dork, I swear.”

Martin just grinned as Tim pulled away fully, letting his arms fall back to his side. They both took a few moments to collect themselves, Tim rubbing away tear tracts and Martin straightening out his jumper where it had been bunched up.

As Tim was walking to the door to open it, Martin called out, “Tim? Are—are we… are we okay?”

Tim’s hand paused on the handle of the door. “No. Not yet. But I think we will be.”

Martin nodded and followed him out. They walked back into the main area of the archives side-by-side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dabs*
> 
> I love Timothy Stoker and I want him and Martin to be FRIENDS and you can't stop me.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Please leave a kudos or comment if you can—they always make my day :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, without further ado, the last chapter! It's been a wild ride writing this monster and I'm so glad that people have enjoyed it! I'm already planning out some more AUs and I can't wait to keep writing more fun stuff.
> 
> In any event, happy reading!
> 
> EDIT: I received some AMAZING fanart for this chapter of Martin's new window from [lo-fi-charming](https://lo-fi-charming.tumblr.com) that you can [look at here!](https://lo-fi-charming.tumblr.com/post/190367549108/fanart-for-the-courtships-of-martin-blackwood-by)

When Martin came into work, there was someone sitting in the chair at his desk. He was staring at the bone-heart that was still propped up against the wall and was drumming his fingers against the wood of the desk. It only took Martin a few seconds to recognize him and he had to bite back a sigh when it finally clicked.

Simon, while fun and entertaining, could also be a bit much. Martin didn’t even think he could blame that bit on the Vast. Still, they were friendly acquaintances and Martin wasn’t upset in the least to see Simon. Their chats were always very lively and exciting.

Martin straightened his spine and then stepped fully into the archives. “Hello Simon.”

Simon turned around in the chair, a wicked smile spreading onto his face. “Martin! Good to see you, as always.”

“You too,” Martin said, stopping once he’d reached his desk. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but—”

“It’s unexpected?” Simon ventured. At Martin’s nod, he continued, “Can’t fault you for that. I didn’t even realize I’d be here myself until, oh—” Simon stopped to pull up his wrist and made a show of staring at the back of it for several seconds. He was not wearing a watch. “Hm… about ten minutes ago? Yes, that sounds right. I realized I hadn’t… _dropped by_ in a while and that was simply unacceptable.”

“Of course,” Martin said. “Was there anything in particular that you had planned for this visit in the ten or so minutes you’ve had since you decided to come here?”

Simon let his gaze sweep across the archive. Once he’d scanned everything he could, he stared at the point where Martin’s desk met the wall. “You know, I can’t imagine that it’s pleasant to spend so much time underground like this. Too… contained. At least for my tastes. But something tells me that you’re not the type to enjoy it, either.”

Simon changing the subject mid-conversation with absolutely no segue was not at all new to Martin. “I mean, I don’t mind it? It wouldn’t be my first choice or anything, working in an underground basement, but it doesn’t bother me. Not really.”

Simon hummed in acknowledgement. “A window would help.”

Martin laughed at that. “You know, I don’t think a view into the dirt surrounding us would be much of any help. It’s a nice thought, though, being able to get some natural light in here.”

“Well, you know what they say. Nothing is impossible.”

Yeah, Martin had definitely figured that one out for himself. “I know. I just don’t see how we’d go about making a window down here. Besides, like I said, I don’t hate it down here. It’s definitely worse for you and Mike—being Avatars of the Vast and all.”

“How considerate of you, Martin,” Simon grinned. “This is exactly why I like you.

“I thought it was for my… ‘boldness’ and ‘sharp tongue’, wasn’t it?”

Simon’s grin widened. “That too, my boy. That too.” With a heavy sigh, Simon pushed himself up for Martin’s chair. “It’s a shame that I can’t stay longer, but I really _do_ need to be going. I’d much rather stay and chat, though. Perhaps say hello to the Archivist and Elias.”

“Oh please, you just want to annoy them.”

“But of course! And if I recall correctly, you gave me your full blessings to do so to Mister Bouchard.”

Martin shrugged. “He deserves it.”

“Without a doubt,” Simon agreed. He clapped one hand onto Martin’s shoulder before he began to make his way out of the archives. He called over his shoulder, “Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon! Then you can thank me.”

“Thank you for—? … And he’s gone.” Martin sighed to himself. “I don’t think that I like the implications of that.”

Well, at least Simon was unlikely to cause him any actual harm. Most likely, at least. Simon wasn’t the type to beat around the bush or pretend to enjoy someone’s company, so Martin was pretty sure that Simon wasn’t actually harboring some secret plan of how to kill or maim him. And on top of that, the others probably wouldn’t take kindly to him being hurt, so Martin took comfort in that knowledge if nothing else.

For now, though, Martin had a job to do. He slumped down into his chair and got to work.

* * *

Going out to grab a coffee at one of the local cafés with Helen wasn’t anything new. Martin himself didn’t usually drink coffee very often—it was far too bitter for his tastes and too much caffeine too quickly always left him feeling on edge—but it was a nice way of spending time with Helen.

“So how have things been going with you and Michael?” Martin asked while they were waiting in line. They were in a place that they’d been before but Martin couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him. It was warm and cozy with brown and red furniture and a rustic wood aesthetic.

Helen gave him a sharp smile, the edges of it fraying into something that was more Spiral than anything else, but her disguise stayed in place. “As well as you can expect. Still not pleased with sharing the mantle of the Distortion with me, but there isn’t much a choice left on that matter.”

Martin nodded. Michael and Helen had tried to explain it to him once; how they had both come to be the Distortion (as much as the Distortion could _be_ anything). It had involved long and twisting explanations that referenced theories Martin had never heard of and frequent mentions of unreality. As best as Martin could understand, Helen had escaped Michael’s corridors by forcibly throwing herself into the Distortion and the two had just… ended up cohabiting. Somehow. It made Martin’s head hurt when he thought about it too much and he’d come to accept that he just wouldn’t ever really know. And, honestly? He was fine with that.

When they finally reached the cashier, Martin ordered himself a white chocolate mocha and stepped aside to let Helen order her drink. He stopped paying attention to her specifications after she asked for the drink to be two types of latte mixed together, fourteen shots of espresso, and eleven pumps of vanilla. The horror on the barista’s face as Helen’s list of parameters continue to grow was more than a little hilarious. Martin made sure to drop a tenner into the tip jar as Helen paid for both their orders.

Martin managed to grab a cozy little booth for two of them while they waited for their drinks. Martin knew from experience that Helen’s would take a while.

“Have you given it any thought?” Helen asked after a few moments of comfortable silence.

Martin had absolutely no idea what Helen was referring to, but he had interacted with her enough times to know that she wouldn’t answer outright. “I’ve given a lot of things quite a bit of thought.”

“Have you now?”

“Mhm. I’ve given some thought on what I’ll have for dinner tonight and what I’ll do once I get back to work. Stuff like that.”

“Mortal things,” Helen drawled.

“Well, I’m mortal, so everything I do is a ‘mortal thing.’”

Helen nodded. “Obviously. I wish to know about a matter regarding a monster.”

A monster? That could be literally _anything._

“What kind of monster?” Martin asked.

Helen grinned. “One like me.”

_Okay, so she’s definitely talking about Michael, then. Right? I don’t exactly know anyone else that’s associated with the Spiral so that’s really the only thing I have to go on. What has Michael done that would—_

_Oh._

“I’ve thought a little about the… tattoo, yeah,” Martin said. “I… well, I’m considering it. It would be nice to just… never have to be alone. But Jon—”

Helen laughed. It left Martin feeling somewhat dizzy.

“Jon. He wouldn’t… like it. And I don’t know if I want to be marked by the Spiral. So I guess that’s all to say that I’m not sure yet.”

“You don’t ever go into anything without giving it full consideration. Very wise of you.”

Martin just shrugged. “Just careful, I think.”

Helen shook her head. “No. Wise. Take the compliment, if you would.”

“Ha. Thank you, Helen. For the compliment.”

Helen winked at him. “Of course. And, if your answer should be that you wish to have such a connection, know that I would be just as willing to provide you with your marking as Michael.”

“You just want to get one up on him.”

“Always.”

The barista called out Martin’s name and he made quick work of excusing himself to grab his drink. He thanked the lady who handed him his warm drink. It was still steaming.

Martin settled back into his seat. Helen was watching him.

“… Thank you.”

Helen’s head fell to the side, her hair _almost_ moving appropriately according to the laws of gravity. “Hm? What for?”

“The acceptance. Saying that you want a connection. That you’re willing to offer me an alternative option if it would make me feel better. I just… I appreciate it a lot.”

Helen’s grin threatened to spill off of her face. “I don’t believe that I ever uttered those words.”

Martin smiled back. “No. You didn’t.”

“You are _very_ welcome, Martin.”

When Helen’s name was called, she chugged it all down in the time it took to come back to the table. This time, Martin couldn’t stop himself from laughing at just how disgusted and terrified they were.

* * *

It was a few days after Simon had made his surprise visit that Martin found himself heading down into the archives with Tim. They’d happened to arrive at the same time and Tim had even flashed Martin a quick smile. It had been a shade of what it used to be, but just the action itself and the intent behind it was enough to have Martin grinning widely as they descended into the archives. And really, Martin would take all of the nice things he could, considering that Jon and Basira were out investigating something or other—they’d been quite vague about it, unsurprisingly. All in all, it was shaping up to be a rather slow day.

Tim and Martin had taken maybe two steps into the archives proper when they both froze in place, eyes wide and staring incredulously.

On the wall by Martin’s desk was a window. One that seemed to open to a brilliant blue sky.

“What the fuck?” Tim hissed out. Martin was inclined to agree.

“I-I don’t—oh god.”  
  
Tim’s head whipped around to glare at Martin. “ _What_?”

“This is definitely Simon’s fault,” Martin groaned.

“Simon? As in Simon Fairchild? The mad old man from the statements that’s also on the list of monsters who have taken a weird liking to you?”

“I, um—yeah. That’s… yeah. Him.”

“Jesus _Christ._ ”

“How’d he even—?”

“He’s a monster that loves the sky. At this point I don’t even think I can be properly surprised by it.”

“… I’m going to take a closer look—”

“ _No,_ ” Tim commanded. “Don’t you _dare._ We have no idea what he could have—”

“Tim, if he wanted to hurt or kill me or whatever else, he would have done it already. He’s had more than enough chances.”

“That doesn’t mean you should go and tempt fate. Aren’t you supposed to be the reasonable one?”

Martin blinked. “I’m the reasonable one?”

“Well, no,” Tim admitted. “But you’ve still got a _brain._ You should _use_ it.”

“Well what else are we supposed to do?” Martin half-shouted. “Just stand here staring at it, doing nothing?”

“I say that we go to the break room and hope that Elias wanders down here and that window fucking _eats him._ ”

Martin let out a short almost-amused huff. “Well what if Melanie or Basira come down here before then?”

“I’d like to think that they’re smart enough to join us in the break room.”

“ _Listen,_ I’m going to take a close—but careful!—look at the window. If something goes wrong, then you can… pull me out as best you can? Or at least be around to let Jon and everyone else know I’m gone.”

Tim sighed, angry and loud. “Martin, if you die on me after all of this bullshit, I _will_ kill you.”

Martin smiled. “I’ll be careful not to, then.”

In the end, it was all rather anticlimactic. Yes, there was a window and yes, it opened to an endlessly blue sky that gave Martin terrible vertigo when he stared at it for too long and yes, it did freak him out just a bit to know that Simon had somehow installed this seemingly overnight without really asking Martin’s permission.

But it _did_ add some natural lighting to the rest of the archives, as well as a nice bit of color, so long as Martin didn’t look at it for too long. So while it was creepy and more than a little weird—and really, what in his life wasn’t at that point?—Martin just accepted it. He briefly wondered what the others would think of it.

He and Tim were also quick to agree that they were, under no circumstances, _ever_ going to open the damn thing, no matter how inviting the latch may seem or how curious they were.

* * *

“Recording ends,” Martin finished. He sat back into Jon’s chair with a sigh. Jon was off… _somewhere_ on his ‘treasure hunt’ to find a way to stop the Unknowing, so it fell to Martin to record the statements. It was definitely getting easier. Martin didn’t know how he felt about that.

Still, Adonis Biros’ statement hadn’t been _too_ bad. Still not pleasant, but the Lonely was always more… muted. More downtrodden, an almost _gentle_ fear. Martin hated the way he slipped into it with such ease. He didn’t want to think of the implications of that.

Martin slouched further back, half-heartedly trying to bury himself into his jumper. He closed his eyes and did his best to anchor himself back to the world around him.

Jon… still gone. Melanie was still angry and said that Elias had threatened her that he'd do something _terrible_ if she tried to murder him again, so she was biding her time. Martin made a mental note to _never_ introduce her to Jude. Martin didn't even want to _imagine_ what chaos that would bring. Basira was doing as well as she could. Maybe Martin could ask her about—

Something was off.

Martin didn't know what it was, but all at once he felt _alone._ Maybe it was the chill of the room, a soft noise that was barely audible even though it was completely silent, the shiver that ran up his spine—Martin was instantly on guard.

He stood up from his desk. “Hello? Basira? … Michael—?”

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't attempt to summon the Distortion, but I won't stop you if you're set on it.”

Martin whipped around to see a man standing behind him. He was tall, taller than Martin was, but not as broad. He had white hair and a beard, dressed in a gray-blue coat with a whistle hanging around his neck. Honestly, he reminded Martin of a stereotypical ship captain. And his eyes—they were like rolling fog, threatening to draw him in and overwhelm him.

In another life, Martin might have panicked. He may have threatened to pull a knife that he certainly didn't carry. Now, though, in this life, in this moment, Martin just narrowed his eyes and stood his ground, even though he _knew_ that his fear must have been rolling off of him in waves.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Martin asked. He was proud of how steady he had managed to keep his voice.

The stranger smiled at him pleasantly, though something about it made Martin think that perhaps this man hadn’t smiled in a long time. Or, at least, that he didn’t do it often. “Ah, silly me. I forgot that you really wouldn't know what I look like.” Then man held out a hand towards Martin but made no attempt to move closer. “Peter Lukas. It’s wonderful to see you, Martin.”

It took a second for his words to fully sink in, but once they did, Martin felt himself jolt. “Oh. Oh!” Martin immediately reached forward to take Peter’s hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. He could feel a grin stretching across his face. “Hi! It's so good to finally meet you!”

Peter’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, the fog in his eyes giving way to something more—it reminded Martin of the ocean on an overcast day. His hand was warm and calloused. “Well, my patron isn’t the most conducive when it comes to properly communicating, as I’m certain you’ve gathered. But, well, I couldn’t exactly put you off forever, could I?”

Martin gave a disbelieving huff of amusement as he let his hand drop from Peter’s. “I mean, you probably could. If you wanted to.”

Peter tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and gave a casual shrug. “Can’t say I really want to, though. So I don’t think that I will.”

“Right. That’s brilliant. I just—I can’t believe I finally get to really meet you! I’ve wanted to thank you so much for everything—I love the scarf you sent, it was so soft and warm. And the books of poetry—especially the Shakespeare one? How did you even get that?—and the fruit basket was lovely, too, though Melanie and Basira filched all of the chocolate-covered strawberries. The painting of the seaside was stunning—it’s hanging up in my flat, actually, it’s wonderful to look at while I’m having tea. Oh, and the cashmere jumper! I can’t tell you how many times that I’ve worn it—”

Peter was laughing again. “Oh my, I should have come sooner by the sound of it.”

“No, it’s fine! Like I said, I just really wanted to thank you. All of your gifts—they’ve made me really happy.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad that they did what they were supposed to do.”

“Of course! And, well, I know that being with the Lonely must make it hard to talk like this. I mean, obviously, you said as much, but is there some way that I could just… talk to you? Or somewhere I could send a letter?”

Peter tilted his head to one side, giving the question a few moments of consideration. “The most convenient thing for both of us is likely going to be you leaving notes here for me. I visit the Institute more frequently than I once did and it would be simple enough for me to pick up something you leave for me. Written correspondence is admittedly easier on me than other forms.”

“That… makes a lot of sense, yeah. Should we establish some kind of location where I should leave it?”

“We can worry about that later,” Peter said. “I’ll look for one and let you know when I find an appropriate spot. But, for now, I think that I would like to talk to you while I still have the energy to do so.”

“Energy? You’re not—doing this won’t—”

“No, no,” Peter waved off Martin’s concern, “not like that. I’m not expending any sort of power to talk with you. Direct interaction is simply something that I find taxing, no matter how enjoyable it may be.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Martin nodded. “So, uh, what do you want to talk about?”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have—I imagine that a servant of the Ceaseless Watcher is rather predisposed to being curious.”

“A bit,” Martin admitted. “I’ve read a few of the statements and Jon’s notes on them, so I know that you’re the captain of the Tundra and a member of the Lukas family. But… not much else, honestly. Um… maybe you could tell me what being the captain of a ship is like? I know the parts of it that involve the Lonely better than I do the actual position itself, I think.”

“I suppose that I can’t fault you for that. The Tundra isn’t a normal ship, of course, but she still needs to be taken care of like any other boat would and I still need to fulfill my role as a captain. I’d be more than happy to explain it to you, should you wish to hear it.”

“I do!” Martin took a step back. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Ah, thank you.” Peter grabbed one of the wooden chairs on the edge of the room and placed it by Jon’s desk before sitting down. Martin went back to his own seat, as well. “Now, where to begin…”

Peter regaled Martin with all manner of tales, from the mundane—navigating the ship, keeping track of personnel, taking inventory—to some that were a bit more supernatural—the fog, his family members, the empty cargo. Martin provided comments and the appropriate sounds of curiosity and excitement when they were required. Towards the end of it, Peter’s voice was getting more ragged, obviously not used to talking for so long. As fascinated as Martin was with what Peter was saying, he itched to get the poor man some tea or urge him to take a break.

Finally, Peter finished his recollection of the first time he saw the Tundra and what a beautiful marvel she was. He gave a heavy sigh and leaned back into his seat. “I thank you for listening, Martin. I can’t imagine that hearing me ramble on is all too interesting.”

“No, it is! It’s really interesting, I promise. But you seem, uh, tired? Can I get you tea? Or…?”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter assured him. “I’m afraid that I’ve simply tired myself out. Talking for any length of time tends to do that to a creature of the Lonely.”

“Must make meetings hard.”

“That’s what assistants are for,” Peter said. “Speaking of, there was something that I wished to discuss with you, though we can talk about it more in-depth later.”

That… sounded only vaguely ominous. “Alright. And that would be…?”

“I’d like to offer you a position as my personal assistant.”

Whatever Martin had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your assistant?”

“Yes. It has not escaped my notice that you have quite the way with people, man and monster alike. You’re incredibly hardworking, fiercely loyal, and very quick-witted. Someone like that is nigh impossible to find, in my experience.”

Martin tried to find the right words to say. _Any_ words to say to that. “I… wow. That’s… quite the offer, Peter.”

Peter smiled, though it was predictably more tired than before. “Yes, I know. Which is why I won’t ask for your answer now. I can give you more information, if you’d like it, but I won’t try to pressure you one way or the other—though I will fully admit to being biased.”

An incredulous laugh escaped from Martin. “C-can’t say I’m surprised about that bit.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be. In any event, if you have questions or want to give a response, you can do so by leaving it in a note to me. I won’t mention it again otherwise.”

“A-alright. Thank you.”

Peter waved him off. “Nonsense. The pleasure was all mine, Martin. It was great to finally meet you properly.”

Sensing the end of their impromptu meeting, Martin went to stand up again so that he could shake Peter’s hand. “Yeah, you too. It’s been nice.”

Peter only hesitated a few moments before he reached for Martin’s hand and gave it a quick but strong shake. “I’ll see you again, Martin. I look forward to any note you may send.”

“And I look forward to whatever comes from you next.”

Peter smiled one last time before he ducked out of the office. And, just like that, he was gone.

Martin hadn’t even really noticed that all the ambient noise that he usually associated with the archives—the air conditioning, the shuffle of papers, the sound of footsteps—had vanished completely up until that moment.

_I was in the Lonely. Peter took me into the Lonely to have a chat about me becoming a servant of the Lonely._

Martin heaved a great sigh. _I’ll have to ask him not to do that again. And I’ll_ definitely _have to tell Jon and the others about it._

As much as Martin wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, something warm still nestled into his heart. It was… strange to be wanted. Strange and worrisome, but… nice. He’d allow himself the indulgence of basking in the feeling, just this once, so long as he didn’t let it control him.

Just this once.

* * *

“You should stay with Beholding.”

Martin looked up from his computer. “What?”

“You should stay here,” Jon said. “At the Institute. With the Eye.”

“… I’m already here?” Martin noted the determined set of Jon’s shoulder and the look of consternation on his face and prepared himself for whatever this was going to be.

“It’s—well, it’s not safer,” Jon said. “None of the Entities are safe, not really. But you’re already connected to the Eye and severing that connection could end up being incredibly harmful to you and really, it doesn’t make sense to give up one evil for another and at least working here with the Eye you get a healthy salary. That’s something that I can’t see something like the Flesh or the Spiral being too keen to provide. And maybe the Lonely has money, what with the Lukas family and all, but I don’t think you’ll be happy with a patron that forces you to self-isolate? You’re quite good and happy around people and I—”

“Jon,” Martin tried.

“—I would really rather you stay here. Tim and Melanie would probably be put out and I know that Basira values your input and—”

“Jon.”

Jon’s mouth snapped shut. “Yes?”

“I’m not leaving the Institute,” Martin said. “I think Elias made that pretty clear.”

“Yes, but, well, who knows what other Entities might try to do to convince you to leave,” Jon grumbled. “Michael keeps wanting to mark you for the Spiral—”

“I think it’s more of a direct link to him?”

“—Peter Lukas offered you a position, Annabelle Cane is no doubt spinning some web of hers, Jude—”

“Jon.”

“Right. My point is that you should stay with the Eye.”

Martin sighed. “Jon, it’s not like I can just leave. And… I don’t really think I want to either? Don’t get me wrong, I am not a fan of serving some fear god, but… the people that I really care about are here? And it’d just… it’d feel wrong if I left you now. You all. Wrong if I left you all now.”

Jon nodded stiffly. “Right. I see. That’s… good. Good.”

“Yeah. Good,” Martin breathed out. “Is there, uh, any reason you were worried about that? I know that the others have been hanging around here but I really didn’t think I was giving any indication—”

“You weren’t,” Jon hastened to reassure him. “I just… I was… Hm.”

“… Okay? I guess I’ll just… get back to work and—”

“No!” Jon jerked forward a bit before he seemed to realize that Martin wasn’t about to stand up and leave from his own desk. “I… give me a minute.”

Something was definitely up. “Yeah, sure.”

Jon stood there, staring into Martin’s soul for what felt like an eternity. His gaze was just so intense, almost like it had a physical weight, and it was focused solely on him. It made Martin want to squirm, but he valiantly did not.

Finally, Jon said, “The other Avatars… have taken an interest in you.”

Let it not be said that Jon had trouble stating the obvious. “Well, yeah? I still don’t know why but they’re not exactly subtle.”

Jon nodded. “It has—it—ah, that is—hm. Them… being around. Being around you, it’s… well, first of all, I’m glad that you have friends and people that care about you. Even if they are servants of eldritch fear entities. And you and Tim are on better terms now as well, at least in part from what I can tell and I am getting woefully off course.”

Martin couldn’t fight down his smile at Jon’s rambling. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Right. Well, the point is that I… the others. Their presence has made me realize something that I should have noticed a long time ago. And I’m not—this isn’t happening because I want you to stop doing what you’re doing. I just—it’s that—well. I, um.”

Martin had absolutely no idea where this was going. Some distant and overly optimistic part of him wondered if this was what Jon would be like if he were to confess to someone. It was easily dismissed for now, though Martin knew he’d think about it later whenever he daydreamed. “It’s okay. Just… take your time? Or you could wait until—”

“No.”

Martin blinked.

“I mean—” Jon rushed to explain, “this isn’t something that I want to wait on. I’ve… quite frankly, I’ve waited long enough.”

“Oh. Okay.” Martin cleared his throat. “I could get tea if that would help?”

Jon shook his head with a fond smile on his face, one that did all sorts of crazy things to Martin’s poor heart. “No, Martin. I don’t think tea would help. But thank you.”

Martin nodded. He didn’t trust himself to form coherent words while Jon was making that face.

“The point—which I realize I’ve talked around rather miserably up until now—is that I—I’m personally worried about you leaving and I would…” Jon closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His next words came out in a rush with his eyes still squeezed shut. “Would you like to get dinner together?”

Martin stared. _Okay. So. He doesn’t mean it the way you want him to mean it. He’s just nervous about taking the initiative and meeting outside of what is purely a working environment. It’s completely platonic. Now if only my heart could get the memo and stop pounding like that._ “Yeah, of course. Are Tim and Melanie coming along? Daisy and Basira?”

Jon opened his eyes and then refused to make eye contact. “Ah. No. Just… just the two of us.”

_Don’t think about how it sounds like a date—too late._

Martin forced a smile onto his face. It would be hell on his heart but it’d be worth it to spend more time with Jon. “Sure! It’ll be nice to catch up outside of work.”

Jon’s gaze snapped back to Martin. “No that’s not—” Jon took in another slow, deep inhale. “Martin. I am asking you out. On a date. With me. To a restaurant. For dinner.”

Martin’s brain did the equivalent of the blue screen of death trying to sing the internet dialup tone.

There was no way he’d heard that right, right? Except no, he definitely had heard the proper words in the proper order with the proper intonation. Maybe he was misconstruing the meaning? Maybe Jon meant it in a completely platonic sense? Or a business sense? Right, like a business date because Jon was his boss. A business date was a thing, right? Martin hadn’t really heard about them, but what did he know, he had lied on his CV and—

“Martin? Martin? Are you alright—you know, um, just. Just forget it. I’ve obviously miscalculated and—”

That brought Martin back online. “Wait wait wait wait wait. You mean like… a date. Us… getting dinner. Together. In a… romantic sense?”

Jon gave Martin a look that was equal parts bewildered, nervous, and fond. “Yes, in a romantic sense. What other way could that be taken?”

“So, just so we’re clear,” Martin said, words forming slowly as his mind desperately tried to catch up, “you, Jonathan Sims, are asking me, Martin Blackwood, out on a date that is of a romantic nature. With you. That is what’s happening right now?”

“… Did I bugger up asking you that badly?”

“Jon, please, I just really need a straight answer or I don’t think—”

“Yes. The answer is yes. That’s what’s happening.”

Martin took in a quick breath. “Right. Okay. That’s, um. Wow. We’re awake, right? This isn’t a dream or a hallucination?”

“God, I hope not. That would be… unfortunate.”

Martin nodded jerkily. “Ah. Okay. Right. Huh.”

Jon was fidgeting now. “I… suppose that’s a no then—”

“No!” Martin shouted, halfway jumping out of his seat. “No, I mean—yes! I—no, it’s not a no. Yes, I-I’d love to go on a romantic date with you. It would—I’d love to. I really want to go on a date with you. I should have said that earlier, I just—yes. A date. Please.”

Jon’s eyes were blown wide now, his face stretching into obvious shock. “Oh. Oh! Right, yes. That’s—” Jon’s surprised expression quickly morphed into a smile, soft and sweet, as he spoke. “Yes. That’s—lovely. That’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, breathless and soft now that the initial panic had faded. He could feel a grin, wide and giddy and sappy, fighting its way onto his face. “It is. I’m, uh, really looking forward to it. It’s… good. Really good.”

Jon was grinning now too. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. Well, um, I have to—there’s still work and—”

Martin waved him off. “Yes, of course, I mean, obviously there’s still work to do—”

“But—tonight? Would you want to go out tonight?”

“Yes! I mean—tonight sounds great! Perfect! I’d—yes. Tonight works. After work?”

Jon nodded emphatically. “Yes. Six?”

“Yeah, we can leave together, figure out where to go?”

“I had a place in mind? It’s not too far and it’s cozy and I, ah, thought the lighting was rather romantic? But if you—”

“No, no. That sounds amazing. I want to go there. With you. Maybe split a dessert and hold hands?”

“That’s a given, isn’t it?” Jon's sarcasm had absolutely no bite to it. Not when he was smiling like that.

“Well, yes, just wanted to be sure.”

Jon nodded again. “Right. Well, um. Right, work. See you at six?”

“Yeah,” Martin was still grinning. “See you then.”

Jon gave another soft smile and made his way back to his office.

Once he was out of sight, Martin let himself slump forwards and let out a sigh of—relief? Excitement? Contentment? Happiness was definitely the base emotion right now, that was—

The door to Jon’s office slammed back open, causing Martin to jerk up at the sounds. Jon was marching back over to Martin with an almost wild look in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asked. “I realize we haven’t gone on our first date yet and I just asked you out but then I realized that I’d really like to kiss you and that since we’re going on a date later that I can probably ask you and you might say yes and I’d really rather like to kiss you.”

Martin was already standing up. “Yes! I’d—kissing! Yes! Fantastic! Now?”

“Yes, if that—”

“Perfect!”

A beat of silence.

“So I’ll just put my arms around you and—?”

Jon coughed. “That would be optimal, yes.”

Martin laughed. “Optimal? Really?”

“Shut up, Martin.”

 _No, don’t. Don’t you—_ “Make me,” Martin said, his face catching on fire as the words tumbled out.

Jon blinked twice in rapid succession. Then a smile, affectionate and satisfied, bloomed onto his face. “I can do that.”

Jon leaned forward, raising himself up so he stood on his toes. Martin leaned down to meet him. Their mouths met in a gentle brush of skin to skin. Martin was sure that both his and Jon’s lips were thoroughly dried out, but it didn’t matter. It was a soft, slow press of touch and warmth that left Martin’s heart pounding and his stomach fluttering. His arms raised, almost by themselves, to loop around Jon’s waist in a loose hug. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s chest, his own hands settling at the back of Martin’s neck, fingers ghosting over the hair at the nape of his neck. Martin sighed into Jon’s mouth and felt Jon’s answering smile in return. Martin huffed out a soft, amused sound that Jon copied before he leaned in again, his lips moving against Martin’s. Martin was more than happy to reciprocate.

The kiss felt like it hadn’t belonged to time, like it had been both an eternity and half a moment. Martin didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he opened them again as he and Jon pulled away from each other. Not far—just enough to leave a few inches of space between them, still in each other’s embrace. Jon’s eyes, his nose, his hair, his scars—all of it was even more beautiful when he was up-close.

“Was that okay?” Martin whispered into the space between them.

Jon swallowed before he averted his gaze, but his smile and nod were unmistakable. “Yes, more than. It was… very nice. I’d like to do it again.”

“Me too. Tonight. After our date. Or during. Or both. I’m not picky.”

Jon laughed, a bright and sweet sound. “Both sounds like the best of those options.”

“We’ll just have to go with that, then.”

“Yes, I suppose we will.”

Martin couldn’t help but lean back down to nuzzle into Jon’s hair and place a tender kiss on his forehead. He was so happy and in love that it _burned_ in his chest.

They stayed like that, just holding one another, for a good while longer before Jon slowly, reluctantly, began to pull away. Martin let him go easily and with no small amount of regret. “The second we’re off work, I promise we’ll head out.”

“Yeah,” Martin breathed out. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ll… see you then. For real this time.”

Jon’s lips quirked up. “Soon.”

Martin smiled. “Soon.”

Martin waited until Jon’s office door had closed once again before he sat back down and buried his face into his hands, smothering what would undoubtedly be a squeal should he let it out. He had a date with _Jonathan Sims,_ the man he loved. And, hopefully, they would have many more dates to follow.

Martin allowed himself a quick two or three spins in his office chair before he focused back on his work. Or, as well as he could focus for now.

A date with Jon, new friends who had weird fear powers, and a plan that would stop the end of the world—Martin’s life was weird and utterly surreal. It was dangerous and impossible and spooky as all hell.

It was perfect and Martin wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends this fic that was meant to be a 4k one shot that spiraled out of control. Thank you so much again for reading. I hope that you've loved reading it as much as I did writing.
> 
> As always, comments feed my soul.
> 
> Thank you again!


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